Giant Steps
by complex-manifold
Summary: How Hagrid and Mme Maxime made it to the dwellings of Europe's last giants, the adventures they had on the way, and what they found there.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I'm rather uncertain about the way I'm going to write this, so please review so that I know whether I'm on the right track ! It's my first time writing both Hagrid and Madame Maxime, but I thought they got far too little attention in fanfic.

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><p>In Hogwarts' Headmaster's office, a council was being held. Albus Dumbledore, master of the domain, stood behind his desk, his pet phoenix, Fawkes, on his shoulder. Albus would have said he stood because the job of Headmaster was awfully bad for one's feet, and there was nothing a man could count on if not his feet; but the true reason, of course, was that unless he stood and they sat, Albus was uncomfortably shorter than his two visitors.<p>

Side by side they occupied the whole width of the desk, but were as unlike in manner as they were alike in size. Rubeus Hagrid, curly beard, woollen hat and robes covered in dog fur, had taken to himself to pour the others some tea from a teapot and bags he kept in his backpack. Olympe Maxime, with pearl earrings and impeccably styled hair, sat cross-legged looking at her cup as though it would reach over and bite her.

"I prefer coffee, if you don't mind, Rubeus," she said. At once Rubeus reached for a pink umbrella he kept at his side, and, to Olympe's surprise, pointed it straight at her cup. The liquid in it darkened until it was black, and its smell became more bitter. Perfectly happy to have been of service to her, Rubeus put down his umbrella and looked for her reaction, and he felt decidedly uplifted when she smiled after tasting it.

"I have invited you here," said Albus Dumbledore, nodding first to Rubeus and then to Olympe, "to discuss a most pressing matter. Madame Maxime, first, I must deliver to you some news that may, if you have decided to listen to the Ministry, come as an unexpected development. Lord Voldemort has returned."

Upon hearing the name Rubeus had cringed, and Olympe's eyes widened; the news, though, had had both gasping, and Olympe spilled her coffee in surprise. She dispelled the damage with a flick of her wand, silently gazing at the Headmaster. Olympe had known, of course, that that year's Triwizard Tournament had ended in the death of a student, and had another sufficiently traumatised that he apparently repeated fables to whoever would hear, and that Durmstrang's Headmaster had run away and resigned. But that Dumbledore himself would now claim said fables as true – not just the delusions of a traumatised child – did not bode well. "That is impossible, Headmaster Dumbly-dorr !" exclaimed Olympe once she recovered. "You-Know-Who is dead."

"Do you truly believe so ?"

Olympe did not. She might not have known about Harry Potter, and that his claims betrayed not madness but bravery; but she knew about Igor Karkaroff, and that he had seemed progressively more uneasy as the last year passed. And in her position as Headmistress of Beauxbâtons, she knew about the state of the world, and that it was high time for wizards to see it. So Olympe said that she didn't, but what could, would Dumbly-dorr do without the support of his Ministry ?

Rubeus, for the split second Olympe had doubted Harry and Dumbledore, had found himself feeling for her a form of contempt, and perhaps sadness, that she wouldn't see what he knew as true, because there was no one he would rather be standing behind than Dumbledore; but he answered almost immediately.

"He'd ask us, that's wha' he'd do ! An' we'd do it, too."

"Yes, indeed," said Albus. "I wished to ask for your help. There is, I believe, something you are uniquely suited to do, if you accept, that may give us an advantage against Lord Voldemort, should he reveal himself."

"That is," continued Albus seeing that his audience was waiting for the details, "as you know, thirteen years ago, he had the support of the giants. I am certain he is trying to recruit them once more at the moment. It is a very dangerous mission, and will require all your wits, but it would greatly help our side if you could precede them, and rally the giants to us."

"And why exactly," said Olympe through pursed lips, "do you theenk I am uneequely suited to zis mission, Headmaster ?"

Albus had expected this little trouble in his plans. Given the reputation of the giants as dim-witted, large, barbaric creatures – a not entirely undeserved infamy – especially among wizards, accusing a successful witch to be related to giants was tantamount to an offence of the highest order. As he remained silent, poring into Olympe's brown eyes with his own, glancing through her mind, her voice heightened, and Rubeus tried to calm her down.

"There's no shame, Olympe, no' at all," he said. "Dumbledore's not sayin' yer anythin' like a giant. Even I've got my bit o' giant ancestry an' I wouldn' hurt a fly -"

But already Olympe had turned heel and was storming out of the office, Rubeus running behind her, the heavy sounds of their footsteps echoing throughout the castle.

As they left, Albus turned to Fawkes, and stroked the bird's red and gold feathers. "We will need all the support we can have, Fawkes," he said. "And yet it is so costly to trust." Albus could trust Rubeus, or at least he thought so; he'd known – raised, in his own, rather distant way – the boy from his schooldays, and he had grown to be fiercely loyal to Albus himself and any cause he espoused. But Olympe, and to a lesser degree the giants he was rallying, could be liabilities just as they were assets; and that Albus kept in mind even as he reached out to them.

Rubeus, meanwhile, did not think Olympe a liability. Though she had always seemed disgusted by the giants – and, Rubeus preferred not to think too often, in a way by a part of himself, she could be just, she could be brave; if they could slow the return of You-Know-Who, she would want to be a part of the adventure. Rubeus had this quirk good people often manifest, that consists in automatically presuming a similar disposition in anyone they like.

And that was what moved Rubeus through the castle grounds – well, that, and the large, heavy legs he made good use of in his work. Olympe was slower, her footsteps more careful, and Rubeus managed to catch up to her before she climbed on the Abraxan horse waiting for her at the gate.

"Fine horse, that," was all he found to say. The Abraxan was indeed a very well-built specimen of his race; he had fine, brown fur, that wouldn't have been seen on animals used to the Scottish weather, and his powerful wings were very large, larger than Olympe and Rubeus. Nevertheless there was an elegance about him that was not unlike his mistress'.

"I breed them," said Olympe. She reached for the horse, this time not to ride away but to bring his head closer to Rubeus. "Zis one we call Mistral, like the strong wind we 'ave in Beauxbâtons. He is young."

Rubeus brought his hand to Mistral's neck and started stroking him. "They're rare, Abraxans," he said. "Don' come over here much. Too cold in winter, yeh see. Wish we'd got some. I remember, that's a great big herd yeh've got over there." He started rummaging in his immense pockets, and offered Mistral some whisky. "Shoulda bought better whisky. I keep it fer me own use, but a great Abraxan like that, he'd want somethin' a bit stronger."

"I was thinking to buy some more for 'im, but I don't know Hogsmeede that well."

"Righ', then, I'll take yeh, if yeh like," offered Rubeus, still patting Mistral, who took well to his heavy-handed affections.

They made their way towards the Thestral-pulled carriages of Hogwarts, and Olympe was pleasantly surprised when Rubeus bothered to hold the door for her.

"Dumbledore didn' mean ter be offensive," tried Rubeus once they'd passed the lake. "But yeh know, with You-Know-Who back, he's doin' his best. We're all doin' our best. If yeh listen'd ter -"

"To insults such as 'e had for me ! _Certainement_ _que non_ ! As I 'ave told you in the past, Rubeus, I may be large, but I am no beast -"

Rubeus' countenance grew harder, his smile disappeared from his face – and for a moment he thought he might cry, or grip his hand so hard it would fall off – but instead he roared, "They're not beasts any more than yeh or me !"

Beast was such a terrible word to Rubeus – one too often applied to him, to his only friends, to something one wanted out of one's life and very far away, to something one felt revulsed by.

And revulsion described well the expression on Olympe's face after his outcry, and not for the first time since he knew her, Rubeus felt truly like a beast himself, uncontrolled and dangerous and unworthy, and he motioned to lead her back to Hogwarts.

There had been a similar expression on his father's face once, a long time before, when a seven-year-old Rubeus had brought home a stray dog that had ended up nearly biting off his father's arm. It was not his fault, he was told, children cannot evaluate danger, it was just an animal – but seeing Rubeus roughhouse with his new pet his father looked afraid, and disappointed. For years afterwards Rubeus thought his father was so frail, he had to shield him from the slightest threat – and so often, the threats were merely too eager, too quick to act, much like himself.

Then Olympe herself rose to the challenge, and at length ranted that they couldn't possibly be compared to giants, that they had better manners than that, that giants were cruel for the sake of cruelty and baser instincts, and never considered the safety of others – and that was her thought also, which was why her discourse was already well on its way when she noticed Rubeus crying. Olympe's teachers and grandmother had insisted that she be at all times proper and in control, despite her origins, her unwieldy frame, and the half of her heritage everyone thought was best left unmentioned, but at that time all these lessons were lost, and it took him crying before her rudeness became obvious to her.

"You truly theenk we can pull their support away from You-Know-Who," she said, her composure recovered, her shame not quite gone yet; as such her face was lightly reddened, her eyes narrowed, but her tone already softer. "That is, we can make a difference, even now that 'e's back."

"Dumbledore does," said Rubeus obstinately. "I trust Dumbledore."

"Well, per'aps Dumbly-dorr should go to the giants 'imself if 'e knows so -"

"Harry does too," continued Rubeus. "Harry's doin' more than jus' a trip to see giants, an' he's not fifteen."

"'Arry Potter ? The Boy-Who-Lived ? Who came out of the Tournament with -"

"With Diggory's body in his arms an' the cup, yeah. Brave kid." Rubeus waited until Olympe was too embarrassed to look directly at him to have another sip of whisky. "I'm goin' ter the giants, an' that shouldn' make me half as brave as him."

Olympe thought it was quite brave of him to admit to his ancestry and use it for whichever good it could bring – especially after the publicity he'd attracted on the subject over the past year.

"Your friend 'Arry... now zat You-Know-Who is gathering forces again..."

Rubeus nodded gravely. "Best hope we've got, says Dumbledore, and he'd know, wouldn' he ?"

Olympe thought of the boy – boys really, the one who was alive and the one who was not – and her own students at Beauxbâtons; and it appeared to her that if it hadn't been for that lake with the mermaids, Miss Delacour's own thin, limp silhouette might have been the first harbinger of You-Know-Who's return. Not that she would not be the next: his agenda, after all, was not especially tolerant of half-breeds, like Miss Delacour. Like Rubeus. And, on a bad day, when she was tired of lying, like herself.

"If I should go," she said, emphasising the 'if', "on that mission of the Headmaster's over ze summer, will it be kept secret ?"

Rubeus assured her that it would – no one wanted the Ministry on their backs – or the Death Eaters, for they had reformed as well, as soon as their master had reappeared.

"Dumbledore'll wan' ter give me details tonigh'," said Rubeus after his Thestrals had pulled them near the castle again, close to the gate. For some time he remained beside her, not quite convinced he wanted to leave, but as Olympe motioned for the door, he darted out to help her.

Before taking her leave she looked around suspiciously, but there was not even a beetle's sound to be heard in the summer night.

"It was my father," she said abruptly, in a whisper, as though she'd said something indecent.

"Did yeh miss him ?"

"No, I always thought... with what zey said..." Olympe was growing quite restless, and though she knew she would have to discuss the mission with Albus, there were few people she had less desire to talk with at the moment. In fact, between the giants, the threat of war on the horizon, and the fresh murder of a student at an event Beauxbâtons had been involved in, Olympe very much needed to think and consider alliances, necessities, and allow on her mind issues that had not lingered there for a very long time.

And that Rubeus understood more than she would have known, in great part unconsciously. As he noticed her fidgeting, he let go of her hand, and plunged his own back into his deep pocket, but he knew her involvement was far from over – rather, as all that concerned the second war, it was only beginning.

"If yeh'd like ter talk," he said, "any time, abou' that an' what Dumbledore said, then, come round, it'd be great. Somewhere it'd be harder ter be listenin' in."

Olympe smiled, which was far too easy for the circumstance. "Would tomorrow - ?"

"Tomorrow. I'll make yeh some tea – coffee – whatever yeh like best." It was rather unusual for Rubeus to be more uplifted by something as simple as tea than tending his Skrewts. "An' Dumbledore'll still wan' yeh ter come along, tomorrow," he added.

When Albus, still pacing with Fawkes on his shoulder and engaged in deep discussion with Dilys Derwent over the meaning of Harry Potter's injuries (most of which, he argued, were more mental than physical) saw Rubeus, alone, waiting at the door of his office, he had to hide some disappointment. He had counted on the assistance of the other Headmistress, whose spells he knew were not to be trifled with.

But Rubeus was smiling, and indeed a smile was not nearly enough indication of his happiness; he grabbed a sherbet lemon from Albus' bowl in passing, though he had never been the type for sweets.

As Albus requested that he sit down, and proceeded to explain the possible pitfalls of exploring the Ural Mountains in the search of the last giants, he could not help but feel proud, not only of Rubeus' trust but also of his kind heart – and he kept thinking of the other person said heart had been able to reach, a boy of fourteen now asleep in the hospital wing with fresh scars on his arm, and the strings he was pulling to ease his burden.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you to the people who reviewed/favourited ! I never write romance at all, so developing the whole Hagrid/Maxime (and how it ends) is going to be a huge challenge. Again, I really appreciate all commentary, including criticism. **  
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><p>"So, Olympe," started Rubeus for what must have been the fifteenth time. "Where'd yeh tell me yer school was ?"<p>

Olympe shot a look behind her, where the middle-aged man in the oversized jumper was still reading his newspaper much too fast to be even skimming the headlines. His strange garments, she thought, were typical of the average British wizard told to 'fit in'. Fitting was perhaps the last quality anything on that scene – the jumper, the wizard's actions, herself and Rubeus' sizes, everything about Rubeus, truly – could be said to have.

"In a charming valley in the Massif Central," she answered, and, as the British wizard's attention seemed to have been piqued, she continued to described the multiple attractions of Beauxbâtons. "You will see, Rubeus, how simply beautiful it is this time of year. Students do not generally see eet, but 'eather grows all along the roads, and it is much warmer than in your Hogwarts."

Rubeus listened, reminding himself all that he oughtn't let slip about their mission, and in his eagerness to do well punctuated his exclamations by moving his large arms and knocking over one or two Parisians with suitcases who addressed him a few choice expletives in French.

The station was busy at this time of day, and in a nearby café, a group of teenage girls sitting next to the British wizard observing Olympe and Rubeus loudly commented as to their size. The wizard lowered his paper slightly, and could not help but listen; it occurred to him that they were exactly speaking his mind without knowing the first thing about giants, and he spared, to his surprise, an affectionate thought for French Muggles.

As their train (the 14:15 in direction of Dijon) was called, the twosome made for a carriage, followed closely by the other wizard. Olympe was, to Rubeus' admiration, very at ease in taking Muggle transport, although even she admitted that it was a pity the seats did not expand to fit their owners. Rubeus twitched and turned uncontrollably as he tried to buckle his seatbelt, his grunts in the process causing many turned heads, and eventually gave up. From where he was sitting he only had to turn his head slightly to keep an eye on the wizard tailing them.

"The fools at the Ministry can' mind their own damn business," said Rubeus in what for him must have counted as a whisper. "Jus' look at him, Olympe. If he thinks he's bein' discreet..."

"Do you 'ave a plan for when we disappear ?"

"Don' know the place. But I think, I think if he's distracted, and we Disapparate jus' then, he can' track us, right ?"

Olympe nodded. "Dumbledore does not lack enemies, _n'est-ce pas_ ?"

Rubeus' voice took on a harder tone. "Dumbledore's got many of 'em Ministry berks on his back," he admitted. "But he's got many friends. An' he's doing what's right. An' I'll be doin' this even if I'm tailed by half of Britain, 'cause I wouldn't want to disappoint Dumbledore." There was an unmistakable whiff of _and so should you_ in his expression. Olympe thought it favoured him; at once he was no longer merely large or wild, but instead imposing and fierce. Indeed the influence of Albus Dumbledore, even as he was so far away, transformed Rubeus and cast his character in the mould of a hero; a Rubeus Hagrid who would move mountains not because he had nothing better to do, but because there was nothing better to be done.

"I doubt ze giants will listen to us," said Olympe a little later on the train journey, to keep her mind off the fact that they were being followed. "Their Gurgs aren't known for their political subtlety."

"Dumbledore's helped 'em," said Rubeus, who was toying with the extremity of his pink umbrella. "Giants aren' much different from people. They'll remember Dumbledore."

Their train pulled into the station in Dijon. On the platform, many Muggles gathered, running up and down trying to see their families and friends through the windows. It reminded Rubeus of the first time he came back from Hogwarts, which was such an old memory, but still so perfectly etched in his mind. Already young Rubeus had been a little clumsy, a little unaware of his own height, as he nearly strangled his father to death when he ran into his arms. There had been a second time, which was not nearly as worth remembering as the first, and there had never been a third time.

Before Rubeus and Olympe disembarked, Rubeus fetched his imposing travelling bag from the compartment it was stored in. It was covered in various animal hairs and specks of dirt, and Olympe had been positively furious at the idea that it would come into contact with her elegant expanding handbag. Rubeus' large movement caused four Muggles to fall entangled in the narrow corridor, their own luggage down beside them, severely slowing their exit; they hurried out, hoping the resulting commotion would slow the Ministry wizard.

Rubeus realised rather too late that said wizard was not, in fact, forbidden to use magic. Indeed as soon as the kerfuffle had started, he had calmly folded his paper (still the same Muggle paper – he was trying without much success to get the pictures to move), and effortlessly organised the luggage as though they'd been patiently awaiting their owners to queue up beside them, a feat that had generated much surprise from the Muggles, who were nevertheless too late to ask many questions. By the time Rubeus and Olympe turned to Disapparate in a relatively calm alley near the station, they came face-to-face with him.

"Oh, dear," said the wizard, quite miffed to have been caught. "If that isn't Hogwarts' gamekeeper. My son goes there," he informed Rubeus, "a fourth year."

"Good fer him." Rubeus' voice was more gruff than the situation warranted.

"Any fantastic beasts waiting for you in Dijon ? I am hoping you will not bring them across the Channel without consulting our Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures. Import rules are quite tighter, what with the Triwizard Tournament last year..."

"'e's coming to visit my school," stated Olympe, straightening her back for once so as to tower over their interrogator. "I wonder what kind of beasts you would expect to find in Beauxbâtons, _Monsieur_ ?"

"Flint, madam. Rest assured, I had no intention to judge the magical creatures to be found in your school -"

"And yet you did !" exclaimed Olympe. "_Non, non, monsieur_, this is unacceptable. What business do the English Ministry 'ave with Beauxbâtons ? Do they not think our country capable of deeling with its own magical creatures ?"

"I would never -"

"Beauxbâtons' Headmistress does not answer to England !" continued Olympe even more loudly, her giant lungs puffing out accusations as though she was hoping to sing them in opera. "My country would be very displeased indeed to be trusted so leetle ! What 'ave your superiors to say to that, sir ? Would they risk anger the Confederation ?"

"Well, never – no -"

"Then come back where zey sent you, sir, so that you don't lose yet more allies ! First the Tournament... a more upsetting catastrophe I 'ave never seen... and now zis ! Are the English mocking us ?"

The wizard looked up, terrified, at Olympe's frame made larger by her hands firmly on her hips, and with a last squeak, Disapparated. Rubeus stared at his companion in awe for an instant, and after that had passed, they both started laughing loudly enough to wake the dead. "A more... upsettin' cata... catstro... ah," said Rubeus. "Weak idiots all of 'em. Ran tail between his legs ! Maybe the next they'll send won' be as big a coward ! The Ministry's image indeed ! As if it could be worse !"

Their travel had become much pleasanter. Indeed, there were no more Muggle trains to be shackled into, nor long-nosed Ministry imbeciles to be wary of, nor Muggles to leer at them; and they even Apparated part of the way through, though Rubeus' Apparition skill left much to be desired. In the Jura a local had insisted to take a photo of them, much to Olympe's annoyance: she had noted rather acidly that eleven-foot-tall men carrying pink umbrellas in early July did not fit her definition of unconspicuous. Rubeus took it as a snide remark on his unattractive appearance, and, heartbroken, talked no more until they reached Bonn.

"Olympe," he said as they entered the city, which was rather quiet at this late hour. "D'yeh mind if we... pay someone a visit ? An ol' ... friend o' sorts..."


End file.
